" Future years will never know the seething hell and the black infernal background of countless minor scenes and interiors, (not the official surface courteousness of the Generals, not the few great battles) of the Secession war; and it is best they should notï¿½the real war will never get in the books." ~ Walt Whitman

It’s like we are all here together in an uber go low no woe know hole. Drinkin’ Dickel around the campfire. Spinnin’ yarns. Hidin’ our shit from grasshoppa ‘cause “free” stuff is his opium. Always vigilant and on the lookout for sightings of The Loretta. Gettin’ that jackass wonderaz limbered up with peyote and then dropping him off at the squatters camp after Christmas with his britches wadded around his ankles so the homeless dudes can take turns bringin’ in The New Year in his rear. Laughin’ like hell when the jackass staggers back into the resthome with that bewildered, bug-eyed I-feel-like-sumpin’-awful-just-happened-to-me look, but the last thing he can remember is dancing around the campfire in his soiled red brassiere while tooting away on a bamboo flute.

" Future years will never know the seething hell and the black infernal background of countless minor scenes and interiors, (not the official surface courteousness of the Generals, not the few great battles) of the Secession war; and it is best they should notï¿½the real war will never get in the books." ~ Walt Whitman